


scars shaped like wings

by Elri (angelrider13)



Series: hope is a thing with feathers [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, In Which Canon is Set on Fire Because Fuck That Noise, Multi, Non-Ethical Expirimentation, Nova has some Issues, OFC's name is Nova, Queerplatonic Relationships, Self-Insert, Suicidal Ideation, demi Nova, oc-insert, poly Nova
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:32:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelrider13/pseuds/Elri
Summary: Remembering being a person when you were created to be anything but is not as simple as it sounds. Rebuilding yourself from shattered glass and smoldering ashes is more complicated than it seems.-In which Niflheim tries to create a weapon that can stand up to the might of Lucian magic and bites off more than they can chew. Magic is not a toy. And it does not take kindly to leashes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkleMoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/gifts).



> So this fic is at least 46% SparkleMoose's fault because their tumblr is a plot bunny breeding ground. How very dare.
> 
> Warning: Pronouns are kinda funky in the beginning.

It starts with an injury.

A training exercise gone wrong; the machinery malfunctions and explodes and the resulting shrapnel cuts easily into flesh. It isn’t wearing armor, isn’t supposed to need any for this exercise. And then there is metal in its chest and in its stomach and it _hurt_.

Distantly, it hears alarms sounding and people shouting, but it can’t understand any of it.

It slips under as they wheel it into surgery.

Its heart stops.

It takes them nine minutes and thirty-eight seconds to start it again.

It’s in a coma for weeks.

When it wakes up, it _remembers_.

* * *

MS-01659 is not a person.

It is a weapon in training for the glory of the Empire. It is in recovery after a malfunction but is expected to return to training within two days. The doctors have declared it fit for duty after numerous tests. Things have always been this way as long as it can remember.

MS-01659 is a weapon, not a person.

And yet.

It remembers being a person once.

It remembers having parents (they smiled a lot, gave affection freely, were warm in a way it didn’t know people could be) and siblings (four of them – two boys, two girls, all younger) and a dog (a big, wiggling mass of black fur that was always so excited to see it). It remembers going to school and learning its letters and numbers, how to read and write and do arithmetic. It remembers making friends and playing games and having fun. It remembers growing up and going to college and getting a job.

It remembers dying.

It shouldn’t remember these things, shouldn’t be thinking about these things. These things are things people have and MS-01659 is not a person.

But it also remembers a story.

A story about a prophesy and a king and a monster made. A story that spanned two thousand years about a line of royal blood, of magic and gods and sacrifice.

A story where the Empire is great and powerful.

A story where the Empire is terrible.

Where slaughter and atrocities like it are written off as acts of war, where experimentation on people is acceptable until those people were no longer people.

A story it now realizes it is a part of.

A story that tells it that what is happening to it is wrong.

MS-01659 should not exist, not as it is. It is a weapon, not a person. It is a tool of the Empire, nothing more.

But that’s not right.

It – they – _she_ was a person once.

She’s still a person now.

She should be treated like a person.

She is not.

* * *

MS-01659 remembers having a name once.

It didn’t seem like much of anything at the time, but after being called nothing but a number, having a name seems like a dream. Names are for people and while MS-01659 knows that she is a person now, she can’t tell anyone. She does not want to be decommissioned or submitted for reconditioning. So she answers when the scientists call her it instead of she, number instead of name.

She doesn’t even know what her name would be.

The name from before was for a different person; one who is part of her, yes, but that is no longer who she is. She’s too different from that woman who grew up loved and warm and safe. She remembers what that’s like, but she’s never felt it herself. No, that name is not hers anymore. If she is to take one, it will be new, one for her and her alone.

But how does one get a name?

Names are people things and MS-01659 has only realized she is a person recently.

She doesn’t know how to get a name.

But she wants one.

* * *

The scientists test her harder after the accident.

They pull her away from the other subjects, run her through programs that she knows she shouldn’t be running until she reaches level ten. She’s only level five but they expect her to complete the programs and to complete them _well_.

She fails more often than she succeeds.

They punish her when she fails.

She does not want to be punished.

So she pushes until she succeeds.

The scientists praise her and it feels hollow. Before the accident, before she remembered, she had craved such praise. Now all it does is make her skin itch and her stomach churn. She does not want their pretty words and empty smiles but it is better than being punished so she nods at their words and says nothing.

But succeeding isn’t enough.

They push her harder.

“It needs to be better,” they say, “Faster. Stronger. It needs to be able to withstand the projected energy output.”

So they push her.

MS-01659 starts to feel something building under her skin and the more they push her, the more the pressure builds. She doesn’t like it but has no idea how to make it stop. The scientists seem pleased by the results she gives them so she says nothing.

_(Would they listen?_

_She has vocal chords, a tongue, teeth. She can make sounds, knows how to shape those sounds into words. But she has never used them to say anything they didn’t want or expect to hear._

_Would they listen?_

_No.)_

They push her.

It feels like there’s fire in her veins and ice in her bones. The air smells like ozone all the time now and her skin tingles. It hurts. It hurts every moment. Training hurts and the tests hurt and failing hurts always but succeeding has started to hurt just as bad. MS-01659 does not want to hurt.

_(Make it stop hurting.)_

They push her.

She destroyed a gun the other day. She just touched it, the barest brush of her fingertips, and it melted under her hands. The pressure inside her hummed and sparks danced across her arms. The scientists make excited sounds and start talking over each other but MS-01659 can’t understand them anyway. Sound is muffled and she can just barely pick out words over the static buzzing in her ears. Her vision has started to go blue around the edges. She doesn’t think that’s supposed to happen, but she doesn’t say anything. Can’t. She hurts and the pressure under her skin is _so much_. She doesn’t know what will happen if she opens her mouth, but she thinks it will be bad.

They look at her with eager eyes and greedy smiles.

_(She wants a smile like the ones her mother used to give her after she gave her a picture she drew, warm and soft and gentle. She wants a smile like the ones her father used to give her whenever she came home with a good grade, proud and happy and bright. She wants a smile like the ones her siblings used to give her when they played games together, innocent and loud and excited. She wants a smile like the ones her friends used to give her whenever they saw each other, gleeful and understanding and true._

_She just wants a smile._

_A real one.)_

They push her.

They push her harder and harder and harder like they don’t think she can break.

_(She can. She remembers. She’s broken before. She’s a person, after all, and people break all the time.)_

They push her until she feels too large to fit in her skin anymore.

There’s a vice around her lungs and a noose around her neck. She can’t hear over the static that fills her ears and all she sees when she opens her eyes is blue light, streams of it, twisting and thrashing and _angry_.

They push her.

MS-01659 does not break.

She _shatters_.

* * *

It hurts.

It hurts like nothing she’s ever felt before. She feels like she’s bursting at the seams, like something inside of her is demanding to be set free, lashing out when she just pushes back harder.

It hurts.

It hurts and no one is helping her.

She doesn’t know what to do.

It hurts.

It hurts.

 _It hurts_.

She lets go.

* * *

When MS-01659 wakes up, the lab is a ruin.

The equipment is shattered and sparking, smoke pouring out. The scientists that were running the test are scattered on the ground around her, blood pooling under them as sightless eyes stare out at nothing. The walls are crumbled and broken; she can see the training room thirteen rooms down. The ceiling is gone. She can see straight through it, through the roof, straight to the sky.

It’s dark and filled with clouds, lightning flashing. She sees it streak towards the ground, hears something explode not that far away. The wind is screaming in a way MS-01659 has never let herself.

There’s a storm raging outside and she knows that it’s hers.

The pressure under her skin is still there but it’s less now. Her eyes burn and she aches and she doesn’t want to move. She’s collapsed in a heap on the ground, limbs splayed every which way, drenched from the rain coming through the giant hole in the ceiling.

She’s more comfortable than she’s been in _years_.

Maybe she could sleep now, without anyone to wake her up. She doesn’t think she’ll want to wake up if she goes to sleep.

_(Is that the same as wanting to die?_

_Does she want to die?_

_She’s done it before._

_But then she woke up._

_She shouldn’t have woken up.)_

It would be easier. It would most assuredly hurt less. And she’s so _tired_.

Does she want to die?

* * *

_(No._

_She doesn’t._

_But living is hard and dying is so very easy.)_

* * *

“Well, well, well, what have we here? It seems our glorious Empire has been hiding quite the little treasure, hasn’t it?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, this chapter came out WAY longer than I was expecting it to. Also, please be aware that this is not a happy chapter. We are very much in a "it gets worse before it gets better" scenario here. SO. This chapter is not...pleasant. Please heed the warnings below!
> 
> Warnings: blood, violence, death, child death, implied sexual abuse (nothing graphic or explicitly stated), physical abuse

“Well, well, well, what have we here? It seems our glorious Empire has been hiding quite the little treasure, hasn’t it?”

MS-01659 jerks up at the sudden sound, taking a fighting stance despite the ache in her bones and the burn in her blood, years of ingrained reflexes forcing her to react before she even has a chance to think about it.

The sight of the man before her has her stomach dropping somewhere around her ankles. Hair the color of red wine, shining gold eyes and a sly smile.

Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim. She recognizes him from the files she was shown of all the Empire’s most prominent figures. Seen tapes of him, photos, but never the man himself.

MS-01659 she remembers this man even though she’s never met him. He is old, far older than he appears, and dangerous. So very, very dangerous. He could kill her without a thought, without a care.

Ardyn Lucis Caelum, the First Chosen King, the Fallen King, the Accursed.

What was she to someone like him?

He’s watching her. She can see the curiosity in his gaze, the interest in his body language. It’s not exactly the same as the way the scientists would watch her, but it’s close enough that her stomach twists. Does he know what she is? What she can do? Does he know about the others? She remembers distantly that the MTs where his creation. He didn’t build them, no, but they would not exist without him. He gave the Empire tools to create weapons that could fight against the magic and might of the line of Kings he so hated. And she knows that he didn’t care in the slightest what those weapons cost.

It would be easy for him to kill her.

And she is so tired.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asks, because if he is, she would very much like to get on with it. She doesn’t remember much about being dead, but she’s fairly certain that things would hurt less than they did right now.

He tilts his head, looking for all the world like a curious cat that’s finally found something interesting. “Now why would I do that?”

She shrugs. “Because you can.”

He hums, nodding. “True. But what would that gain me?”

She watches him watch her, slowly loosening her stance until her arms are at her sides. Her fingers still tingle with energy that pushes at her skin, looking for a way out.

“Why would you need to gain anything? It would be easy for you to kill me,” she says.

He looks amused. “You think so?”

She stares at him. She knows so. He’s good at pretending otherwise, but MS-01659 knows that a killer stands before her. There’s an energy humming under his skin, like hers but not, poised like a predator ready to strike. He’s taken lives before and he’ll take lives again. She’s nothing special compared to him – just another insect under his boot.

He must see something of her thoughts in her eyes because the smile he gives her has far too many teeth. “There are worse things than dying, my dear,” he says.

He says it with the intimacy of someone who _knows_. And he does, if what she remembers is true. But.

“I know,” she replies simply, because it’s true.

There are worse things than dying. Dying is easy. Living is hard. But torture? This sham of an existence she’s been living? That’s worse. She’s wished for death on the bad days and thought about it on the not-as-bad days. It’s a thought that is constantly circling in her head. She doesn’t want to die, not really. She wants to see the things she remembers, experience them in this life and see if they really are that wonderful or if she’s just made the whole thing up.

But she wonders sometimes.

She always wonders.

Because dying is easy.

His smile fades at her answer and his expression becomes something MS-01659 can’t read. “So you do,” he agrees with a low hum, glancing around at their ruined surroundings, “What do you intend to do about all this?”

She blinks at him, not at all prepared for the question.

Do? What is there to do?

She looks around them, takes in the crumbling walls and shattered equipment, gaze lingering on broken bodies. It’s jarring, seeing so much red. Her world up until this point has been so bland and uniform and lifeless. She doesn’t understand what she’s supposed to do, doesn’t understand the purpose of the question. She’s never thought about it before.

Well.

That’s not entirely true.

She’s thought about it. She’s thought about it when she could think through the pain, when the scientists would leave her alone long enough to simply breathe.

Do.

What will she do now that they aren’t hovering over her shoulder, hounding her every move?

She stares at their corpses and thinks of their cold hands and greedy smiles. Thinks of the trainers that hurt and broke in the name of teaching. Thinks of the other subjects and their blank eyes and closed off expressions. Thinks of the guards that are there to keep them in, instead of keeping the ones who hurt them out.

She can end that.

She’s a person, but the scientists wanted a weapon.

MS-01659 looks up into bright gold eyes, sees the curiosity there and wonders what this man will do.

“You won’t kill me?” she asks, just to clarify. It will be inconvenient if he changes his mind.

Ardyn smiles at her, mocking and sincere all at once. “Not today,” he agrees.

MS-01659 nods and turns on her heel, striding out of the broken room. Her bones ache and her muscles burn, but there’s energy humming under her skin, bright and crackling and _dangerous_. Ardyn follows like a shadow in her wake, silent and watching. She can hear the alarms sounding now, the rumbling thunder becoming distant as she returns to intact halls.

Two guards round the corner. They see her and start shouting, rushing towards her, guns drawn.

She holds out her hands, crystalline blue shards gathering at her palms. A blink and she’s holding a sword in her left hand and a dagger in her right. It’s easy as breathing after all this time and the energy under her skin swells, sharp and eager.

The dagger finds a mark in one guard’s throat and he goes down with a gurgled scream as she follows the blade across the hall in a flash of blue light. She pulls it free even as she slams into his body, too used to the sensation to flinch or falter even when his blood splatters on her face, surging up and using the sword to block the other guard’s blow as she shoves the dagger into his leg, slicing cleanly through the artery. She kicks out at his other leg, the loud crunch of bone breaking echoing in her ears as her foot connects with his knee. He collapses with a shout and she watches as he bleeds out in seconds.

She thinks she’s supposed to feel something.

She just killed two people.

People don’t just kill other people.

Except she did.

And she doesn’t feel bad about it.

She doesn’t feel anything really.

That’s wrong though. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. It’s not supposed to be easy.

People don’t just kill other people.

They’re not supposed to anyway.

But.

People aren’t supposed to experiment on other people either.

She looks over her shoulder and sees Ardyn watching. He raises a brow at her but doesn’t move otherwise. He didn’t interfere, didn’t try to stop her or warn the guards.

Good.

* * *

MS-01659 has lost track of how many people she’s killed. The guards that she’s come across have all tried to stop her. Tried and failed. The scientists have commanded her to stop, calling out her number and shouting orders even as they cower away from her. She cuts them all down, their blood soaking her uniform.

Some try to hide from her, locking themselves into observation rooms that are specially designed to withstand anything that could go wrong in a lab. MS-01659 presses her hands against the door and lets the energy burning under her skin loose and it _melts_. The energy sings in her veins, in her blood, in her bones.

She kills everyone she comes across, barely registering their existence before ending it.

Ardyn follows behind her, an amused little smile on his lips.

MS-01659 doesn’t know how many people she’s killed.

She knows it’s a lot.

She knows that the person she was Before would be horrified.

But she’s not that person anymore, not really.

She doesn’t know how many people she’s killed.

She hasn’t been counting.

MS-01659 has only ever been a number to these people.

They are less than that to her.

The door slides open and MS-01659 doesn’t falter as she steps into the training room. Four guards, one trainer.

One subject.

MS-01659 recognizes them. They were in the same batch, grew up in the same unit.

The guards try to take her out first.

They see the blood, have probably heard some reports. She knows there are cameras all over the building and she’s made no effort to hide herself. Even with the storm still raging outside – and she knows because she can feel the pull of it in her gut, the energy singing gleefully as it fuels the tempest – there are still sections of the base that are operational enough for internal communication.

The trainer is next. She recognizes him too. He trained her before. He broke her arm when she missed a shot by two millimeters. He’s screaming at her to stand down.

She doesn’t.

Then it’s just her and the subject.

MS-01657, earlier in their sequence than her, older by two minutes. He snuck her extra rations once when hers were taken as part of a punishment for some obscure failure she no longer remembers.

He charges her.

She doesn’t hesitate.

He’s on the ground gasping for breath even as he bleeds out. He knows he’s dying and he looks at her with confused eyes that are a mirror of her own. She can see the relief there too. It’s over for him and he knows it. No more training. No more punishments.

No more pain.

She kneels down next to him and pulls him into her arms, cradling him close. He blinks at her, breath hitching in his throat, but leans into her hold.

There a memory in the forefront of her mind, a half-forgotten lullaby her mother used to sing to her once upon a time in a life that was warm and safe and good.

MS-01659 looks into MS-01657’s eyes and sings her brother to sleep.

She feels it when he breathes his last, sees it when the light leaves his eyes. She reaches up and closes them, carefully. Gently. She holds him close and presses her face into his hair and for a moment, she just breathes.

He was like her.

He was like her and she killed him.

There’s fire in her throat and water in her eyes and she wants to scream.

She doesn’t.

She finds the flames under her skin, pulls them to the surface.

She lets it out.

Her brother burns in her embrace and the heat of it sears into her skin.

She keeps at it until there’s nothing but ashes left and the lingering smell of burning flesh.

MS-01659 takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and counts.

_One._

* * *

Guard. Guard. Scientist. Guard. Trainer. Guard.

_Two._

Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Guard. Guard. Doctor.

 _Five_.

Doctor. Doctor. Guard. Scientist. Trainer. Trainer.

_Nine._

Guard. Guard. Scientist. Trainer. Doctor. Guard.

_Fourteen._

* * *

The two doctors in the room go down easily. They know nothing of combat and the only reason they are even here is to keep as many subjects alive as possible. Whatever it takes. She feels nothing as they attempt to flee from her, terror plain on their faces. She cuts them down as easy as breathing.

She approaches the bed in the center of the room, looks at the small body in the bed hooked up to numerous machines. The beep of the heart monitor seems loud in the sudden silence, but she notes how slow it is, how weak. She doesn’t know this subject; they’re from a newer batch. They’re younger than her. Smaller. She can see the bandages covering their body, see the crimson seeping through the pristine white – it’s a wonder they’re still breathing.

They have the same nose, the same face shape, the same skin tone. Her hair is blond though, and theirs is black. She reaches out and puts a hand on their cheek, the touch feather-light and careful. Their eyelids twitch and glassy blue eyes peer up at her in a feverish haze.

She can see the moment they register her, the moment they realize that she is not another doctor or scientist or _torturer_.

“Please,” they rasp, “’urts.”

MS-01659 can see what they’re asking for reflected in their eyes. She swallows the lump in her throat and nods.

“Okay,” she whispers, “Okay. It will stop soon.”

She moves her hand to their forehead and thinks about the gold light that stops her pain sometimes. Pictures it clearly in her mind and shows the image to the energy that crackles under her skin. She feels it pause, feels how the way it rushes out is gentle instead of ferocious. The gold glow comes to her palm and she can feel all the tension seep from her sibling’s body.

Behind her, she can feel the energy that surrounds Ardyn go completely still, feel the way his eyes bore into her back, heavy and intent.

She ignores him.

“Tha’k ‘ou,” her sibling whispers, eyes sliding shut, a knowing, grateful smile on their lips.

“Hush,” MS-01659 says softly, “It will be over soon. Just rest.”

And then she sings. The same lullaby she’s sung fourteen times today. She sings until she is certain they are asleep, certain that they are unaware. She’s numbed the pain, but she can’t be sure it will work; she’s never done this before. They’ve lived with enough pain. She won’t add to it in this moment of mercy.

She brings up her other hand and places it on their chest, right over their heart, and thinks of the storm raging outside. She thinks of flashing, jagged lines of light and echoing booms and the smell of ozone. There’s a crackle of energy at her fingertips, sparks along her skin, the smell burning flesh.

The heart monitor gives a single, continuous beep.

MS-01659 takes a shaky breath and summons fire to her hands, watches as her sibling’s body burns.

 _Fifteen_.

* * *

Guard. Guard. Doctor. Guard. Doctor.

_Seventeen._

Trainer. Scientist. Scientist. Guard. Guard.

_Twenty._

Guard. Guard. Guard. Guard. Guard.

_Twenty-two._

Scientist. Scientist. Guard. Guard. Guard.

_Twenty-six._

* * *

MS-01659’s sisters lunge for her, expressions wild.

She rolls to the side, her movements controlled where theirs are not. She looks at them, takes in the feral light in their eyes, the way they don’t feel quite right. The energy that lives under their skin doesn’t hum like Ardyn’s does – like it’s at home, like it belongs, like it’s settled – or surge like hers does – looking for a purpose, a way out, an _escape_. No, their energy is that of a dying star before it goes supernova – unstable and uncontrolled and unraveling.

Her sisters are completely shattered inside, their energy consuming them from within, eating them up until there is nothing left.

She looks at Ardyn over their burning corpses. His amusement from earlier has vanished, his face blank as he stares her down. His energy is still, silent, waiting. It fills the room, lingering against the edges of her senses and her own energy lashes out, pushing back, demanding a way out, a way through. MS-01659 doesn’t understand the look in his eyes, doesn’t know what he sees when he looks at her. She wonders if this is to be her fate too, to be consumed until there is nothing left but ash and stardust. She wonders if his fate is the same even though she remembers a different one.

“Even stars must die,” she whispers.

Ardyn says nothing, but steps to the side when she leaves the room.

_Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine._

* * *

Trainer. Trainer. Guard. Trainer.

_Thirty-four._

Doctor. Guard. Guard. Guard. Doctor.

 _Thirty-seven_.

Guard. Scientist. Scientist. Scientist.

_Forty-one._

Guard. Guard. Guard. Guard. Guard.

_Forty-five._

* * *

MS-01659 stares down at the body of the guard with empty eyes. She knows him. He’s the one who snuck into her bunk during rest hours. She knows he did it to other subjects too. She feels nothing as she stares down at his corpse, nothing at she draws her blade across his throat just to be sure.

There’s a bullet in her shoulder, but the wound only registers as a dull throb in her mind and digging it out results in nothing more than a mild twinge. A bullet is nothing when her body has been trying to tear itself apart at the seams for _years_. Distantly, she thinks there’s something wrong with that. That she should hurt more, that this level or pain shouldn’t be normal.

But it is.

And she’s lived with it far too long to let it stop her.

The boy in the bed looks up at her with hazy eyes, skin so pale it’s almost translucent. He’s battered and bleeding and there’s a bruise in the shape of a hand around his throat. There are two bullet holes in his chest and one in his stomach and MS-01659 knows that he’ll die of blood loss soon. She gathers him up in her arms even as he flinches away from her and turns him towards his tormentor’s body.

“He will never hurt you again,” she whispers, “He will never hurt anyone again.”

Her brother goes limp in her hold releasing a shaky sigh that turns into wet, rasping coughs that paint his chin crimson. MS-01659 ignores the way the blood spatters on her – on her skin, on her clothes, on her face – and merely rubs a soothing hand down his back.

“Hurts,” he croaks out when he finally stops.

“I know,” she replies, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple just like she remembers her father doing a lifetime ago, “Go to sleep. The pain will stop soon.”

“M’kay,” he slurs, head lolling against her shoulder.

MS-01659 sings her lullaby, feels her brother relax against her even as his blood seeps into her clothing, and when he’s asleep, it’s simple to stop his heart. A crackle of lightning and flash of sparks and it’s done.

She holds him as he burns, same as all the others.

 _Forty-six_.

* * *

Guard. Guard. Scientist. Guard.

_Forty-nine._

Trainer. Doctor. Guard. Guard. Trainer.

_Fifty-three._

Scientist. Scientist. Scientist. Guard. Scientist. Guard.

 _Fifty-eight_.

Trainer. Trainer. Guard. Scientist. Guard.

 _Sixty-four_.

* * *

MS-01659’s shoulder is slowing her down. The pain she can handle, she’s handled worse after all, but the wound itself is impacting her movement enough that the last two guards were able to get in some hits that she should have been able to stop. Her ribs ache and exhaustion is pulling at her, making her limbs heavy.

But she can’t stop. Can’t rest. Not yet.

The next room she enters is filled with scientists. They all flinch at the sound of the door sliding open and look har her with horrified eyes. She isn’t sure what they know, but she supposes that being covered in blood and holding a blade in each hand as lightning sparks along her arms is perhaps more than a little terrifying in and of itself. They try to run, to beg, one even tries to fight. But they are not fighters and they spent years turning her into a weapon of war. It’s easy to cut them down, easy to slide her blades into flesh.

It’s easy.

There’s a tank in the middle of the room with a body in it.

Or what’s left of a body.

The bottom half is missing along with the left arm and part of the shoulder. There are numerous tubes and machines hooked up to them and it’s only the regular beep of the heart monitor that tells MS-01659 the body is still alive and not just a preserved corpse. The energy surrounding them is barely there, just the dying, flickering embers of a once roaring fire, nothing at all like the raging infernos or controlled storms she’s encountered before.

This subject, this _person_ , has died already. But the scientists had apparently deemed them useful still and prolonged their death, their suffering, because they could learn from it.

MS-01659 clenches her jaw and plunges her sword into the tank. The glass shatters and the fluid inside comes rushing out with enough force that it nearly knocks her over. Her sibling is left hanging limply inside the shattered tube and MS-01659 ignores the way the equipment monitoring their vitals starts screeching wildly as she carefully maneuvers them out of their glass prison.

They don’t stir, don’t so much as twitch at her touch. They’re barely breathing, just the smallest of inhales, while she unhooks all the machines. As soon as she’s finished, that little motion – the only motion, none of her other siblings were so _still_ – stops. They don’t breathe again and MS-01659 presses her fingers to their throat to check for a pulse. There isn’t one.

She presses her lips together and nods to herself, throat tight. She holds them close and sings to them even though they can’t feel it or hear it. She takes their remaining hand, runs her thumb over the barcode one their wrist and makes herself memorize the string of numbers underneath it. They don’t have a name. None of them have names. And as much as she hates the numbers, it’s the only form of identification they have. So she will remember them. All of them. Maybe when she figures out how people get names, she can get some for them.

MS-01659 presses a kiss to their damp hair and sets them aflame.

 _Sixty-five_.

* * *

Guard. Scientist. Scientist. Trainer. Guard.

 _Sixty-nine_.

Doctor. Doctor. Scientist. Guard. Guard.

_Seventy-three._

Trainer. Trainer. Guard. Scientist. Guard.

_Eighty-one._

Guard. Guard. Guard. Scientist. Guard.

_Eighty-six._

* * *

MS-01659 has never held a baby before.

In her first life, she’d been an older sister. She’d gotten to hold each of her younger siblings when they’d been born. She’d gotten good at it, she’d known how to hold them without even thinking about it – how to support their neck, how to swaddle them, how to keep them calm.

In this life, MS-01659 remembers the motions – putting the baby’s head in the crook of her arm to provide support, the little bouncy rocking motion to soothe them – but they are awkward and rusty and not quite right. But the baby must disagree because they merely give a little yawn, a sleepy smack of their lips, and then they’re curling in as close as they possibly can despite the blood covering her. MS-01659 is fascinated by this small thing. They’re so tiny and soft and _breakable_. They feel fragile in her arms, as if one wrong move will leave them shattered like glass. She finds it hard to believe that everyone starts out like this, this small fussy thing that isn’t even capable of lifting their own head let alone being capable of harming another. And yet she knows it to be true. Every person she killed today – every scientist, every doctor, every trainer, every guard, every subject – started out exactly like this.

This small, squishy, innocent, defenseless creature.

How can they all grow to be so different? How can they all start exactly like this, exactly the same, and treat each other so horribly? How can someone look at this and think of nothing but harm?

MS-01659 doesn’t understand.

She doesn’t understand the point of it.

Is there a point? A reason? Or is all of this simply just because?

She doesn’t know.

The baby in her arms has a number on their wrist already, just like the rest of them. Tucked away in an incubator, alone and isolated and silent. Had they all started like this?

But this is the end. MS-01659 will not let this continue.

She puts a hand over the baby’s mouth and nose, presses down tight, until she can’t feel the flow of air beneath her palm. She sings her lullaby, watching as their little brow furrows, feels the hitch of their chest, the way their limbs push out in an automatic reflex. But their movements are weak and more like flailing than a controlled motion. It’s easy to hold them still, easy to wait until they go still.

Why is it so easy?

MS-01659 stares down at the little body in her arms, still warm, still soft, and wonders. She doesn’t have an answer, event with her knowledge from before. What she remembers tells her that it shouldn’t be easy, that if it’s easy then something’s wrong. And something is wrong, but at the same time, this is all MS-01659 knows. She might remember another life, but it’s not the same, not really. It’s like watching a story unfold – she might get attached to the characters, might become invested in the plot, but ultimately, it’s not real. It’s not something that affects her in real time.

So she doesn’t know what it means.

Water lands on the baby’s face and she blinks in confusion only to feel something wet rush down her cheeks. It’s warm, but it’s not thick or sticky the way blood is. Her eyes are burning and her throat feels raw.

“Oh,” she croaks, taking a shuddering breath, “ _Oh._ ”

She hadn’t realized she still knew how to cry.

MS-01659 sinks to the floor and curls herself around the tiny body in her arms and holds tight even when her own fire burns into her skin. It’s fine. She’s fine. No one will ever hurt her siblings again. They can rest, finally, free of pain. They’re fine. She’s fine. It’s fine.

_(It’s not fine.)_

_Eighty-seven._

* * *

“Do you know me?” MS-01659 asks as they wander aimlessly down a corridor.

They haven’t come across another person in over thirty minutes. She wonders if she’s finally managed to kill everything but the man standing next to her in this godforsaken place.

Ardyn hums. “My dear, I did not have the pleasure of meeting you until today,” he says with a flair that MS-01659 is starting to realize is just the way he talks.

The scientist and doctors all spoke in clinical detached tones and the guards and trainers spoke in orders that they expected to be obeyed. She remembers that people all had their own ways of speaking, their own tones and accents and pitches. But she’s never dealt with it before. She didn’t think it was a real thing people actually did. But here they are. She kind of likes it. Ardyn’s voice is nice. It’s deep and rich and he puts emotion – exaggerated or otherwise – into his tone. It’s fascinating. Even if she kinda wants to punch him sometimes.

“No,” she says, “You were surprised when I made the gold light. You feel like me. Like all of us. But different to. Your energy is at home. It fits in your skin.”

Ardyn looks at her, head tilted to the side.

MS-01659 absently thinks that she should probably be terrified of having his full attention, of having those gold eyes so focused on her. But she’s tired and achy and she just killed eighty-seven people. Ardyn already said he wouldn’t kill her today, but if he changed his mind, MS-01659 won’t particularly care. She’s had enough.

“Aren’t you a clever little thing,” he muses, more to himself than to her, she thinks, “But I suppose I do know you in a way.”

MS-01659 stares at him, waiting. She wonders what he’ll say, how he’ll spin it. She knows she’s interesting to him, enough so that he’ll probably try to use her somehow.

She’s not as opposed to the idea as she probably should be. But then again, Ardyn is currently well entrenched in Niflheim’s government. If Ardyn brings her anywhere near the people she knows would have ordered her existence, she’ll kill them. Just like she did everyone in this facility. She’ll cut them down one by one until someone kills her or she slaughters them all. She is not in the mood to be kind.

“It appears, my dear, that we are family.”

MS-01659 blinks, long and slow. That…was not direction she expected this to take. “Families are people things,” she blurts out, for lack of anything to say.

Ardyn raises a brow. “Are they now? Fancy that. And what are you, if not a person?”

MS-01659 scowls at him. “I’m a person,” she bites out.

“So you are,” he smiles, mocking and amused.

MS-01659 wants to set him on fire.

She does not.

Yet.

“What does that mean? Family?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

Ardyn hums. “It means, dear little warrior, that we have the same blood, the same _magic_ , running through our veins.”

And that’s right, MS-01659 remembers what a family is, sort of. She knows that her parents and siblings from before were all blood related to her. But it’s not entirely correct either. It feels like a half answer somehow or perhaps she’s just unsatisfied with it.

“Give me a name,” she demands suddenly and probably a little foolishly. But he’s frustrating and she’s exhausted and the words slip out before she can stop them. Ardyn has been a person longer than most people have been alive. If anyone would know how to get a name, it would be him.

His brows fly up and he blinks at her, clearly startled. “A name?”

“People have names,” she says firmly, “I am a person, not a number. You say you’re family. So give me a name.”

Ardyn leans down and MS-01659 holds his gaze. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking or what he’s looking for, but she will not back down from this. His expression is odd and MS-01659 doesn’t know what it means.

“Nova,” he says after a moment.

She tilts her head to one side, then the other, turning the name over in her head. It’s not even remotely similar to the name she had before. And that’s. That’s good, she thinks.

“Does it mean anything?” she asks.

His lips quirk into an odd little smile, almost like he’s trying to smirk but not quite making it there. “It means new,” he answers.

She blinks at that. That fits. That works. This is a new life. Maybe a new beginning? Yes, that fits.

“Nova,” she says, testing out the way the name feels on her tongue, “Nova.”

MS-01659 – _Nova_ hums to herself and looks up into gold eyes. “I like it.”

Ardyn seems amused by that. “Glad to be of service, little niece.”

MS-0165 – Nova scrunches her nose up at the term, but can’t quite hide the giddy smile on her lips. She has a _name_. Ardyn called her niece. Niece means family and families are people things. It takes her a moment, but she finds the correct familial title tucked away in memories of warmth and light and love. “Thank you, _Uncle._ ”

“I’ll ignore how disrespectful that tone is, dear niece.”

She huffs at him and continues down the hall.

“And what, prey tell, are you going to do now that you’ve killed every living thing in this facility, hm?”

She should probably feel worse about that than she does. She side-eyes the man next to her. “I didn’t kill you.”

“You did not,” he agrees with a nod and then flashes her a smile that has far too many teeth. “Would you care to give it a go?”

Nova squints at him, tries to gauge how serious he is, but can’t really tell. “I have better things to do.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a saying from somewhere,” she says absently, half-remembered words float through her head as she ducks through a broken doorway, ignoring the way her vision goes blurry for a moment when she straightens out, “Knowledge is power, or something like that.”

Ardyn hums consideringly. “I am familiar with the phrase.”

Nova looks up at him, eyes determined. “I want to know what I am.”

“The truth is not always kind.”

“Better to be slapped with the truth than kissed by a lie.”

Ardyn stares at her. “You are very well spoken for a child,” he says thoughtfully.

There’s the slightest bit of hesitation before that last word and she knows that it’s not the one he was thinking. Children aren’t like her. Children don’t know how to hold fire in their hands or throw a dagger accurately at a target. Children don’t massacre an entire building full of people.

“I am not a child,” she says, feeling old and tired and maybe a little broken, “They wanted a weapon. They got one.”

She turns on her heel and trudges further into the depths of the facility. She knows it won’t be pretty or nice or shiny, this information she seeks. But she still wants to know. She _needs_ to know. The truth will hurt her, she knows. But not knowing? Not knowing and living with countless questions hanging over her head? That is worse.

The truth hurts, yes, but a lie will never heal.

She’s used to carrying pain by now.

A little more won’t kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn has joined the party!
> 
> This man is so hard for me too write. I just don't think I can be as witty as he actually is. I hope I managed to do him justice. Hopefully, he'll be easier to write the more often I do it.
> 
> A little note on Nova: You've probably noticed that her behavior kinda fluctuates a little. That's because she remembers how to act like a person in theory, but she has had very little practical application of what she remembers. So the way she acts is kind of going to switch between extremes for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream at me on tumblr. Also, for those interested, here is the story tag.


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